Archive of Our Own ^beta

0.

Derek has never considered him to be a physical sort of person. Even before the fire, he was never the touchy-feely sort of person the rest of his family were. It used to be a regular issue with his girlfriends, something that hasn’t really changed much over the years especially given everything else that has happened. Since what happened with Jennifer, Derek thinks it’s understandable that he is the way he is. That is something Braeden just never understood, so it didn’t come as a surprise when she chose to break up with him. He’s since sworn off dating, which he also thinks is highly understandable, and the rest of the pack agrees with. Loudly.

Everyone except one person, who, though never explicit, makes his intentions known.

Derek sits in his armchair and watches the rest of the pack talking amongst themselves. They’re all broken up into groups: Scott and Allison, Malia and Kira, Erica and Boyd, Isaac and Lydia. While not all dating, their level of comfort with each other paired with their casual physical intimacy that seems to transcend relationship boundaries and extend to everyone is something that Derek secretly envies, though he would never admit that. Before the fire, his pack used to be very physical, and the pack he and Laura found in New York was physical, too. It’s nice to see that his pack now carries the same sort of closeness with each other, even if he can’t find himself able to replicate it.

Stiles comes in from the kitchen. Derek watches him look around at their group, looking for a place to sit. His eyes land on Derek and he smiles softly and a bit cheekily, like he’s proud of catching Derek watching him.

Derek looks away.

“Alright,” Stiles says, cramming himself in the spot between Lydia and Scott. “Have we made a decision?”

There’s a chorus of responses, multiple movie names thrown out and overlapping each other. Derek doesn’t say anything and he feels like he can feel eyes on him. He knows who’s looking at him, and he doesn’t look up.

“Alright, alright, class, one at a time,” Stiles teases. “Derek? You have a pick?”

Derek glances over at Stiles. Stiles gives him this expectant look. The rest of the pack looks somewhat the same, but nothing compares to the barest hint of a smile on Stiles’ face.

That smile. Ever present in Derek’s company, like something is just so funny, like Stiles knows something that Derek doesn’t. It drives Derek crazy and he simultaneously can’t look and can’t look away whenever Stiles turns that look onto Derek. That stupid smile probably started sometime after Derek confessed that Stiles is his anchor. Since then, Stiles keeps giving him looks paired with that smile that drives Derek mad.

“No,” Derek says. Stiles narrows his eyes slightly but just shrugs instead.

“Alright. Kira, your pick, then.”

Derek turns back to the TV and tries to ignore the glances Stiles keeps throwing at him.

+++

1.

Derek finds himself waiting outside the convenience store as Scott and Isaac search for snacks inside. It’s Scott’s job to pick up snacks this week for movie night and Isaac and Stiles volunteered to help. Derek doesn’t even know why he’s here—though he could surmise that it’s Stiles’ fault—but at least Stiles is forced to stand outside with him in the cold and wait.

“Ugh, my hands are so cold,” Stiles complains, holding his hands up to his mouth and blowing on them. Derek watches him for a moment before turning away. That doesn’t seem to deter Stiles though. “Dude, seriously, feel them.”

“I don’t want to feel your hands,” Derek shoots back as Stiles wraps his fingers around Derek’s wrist.

“Dude,” Stiles says, “you’re so warm.”

Derek thinks about pulling away, but the feeling of Stiles’ cool fingers on his wrist is kind of nice. He doesn’t move, watching as Stiles wraps his whole hand around Derek’s wrist, but that movement is a little awkward with Derek’s jacket in the way, so he slides his hand downward and wraps his hand around Derek’s. Derek doesn’t hold his hand back but also still doesn’t pull away.

“Hey, your hands are a little bigger than mine,” Stiles says. He laughs lightly. “That, like, never happens. Pretty cool.”

“Hey, you guys ready?” Scott asks, coming out of the store with a plastic bag. Isaac trails after him, glancing between Stiles and Derek. Derek pulls his hand away.

“Yep,” Stiles says, letting Derek go without saying anything. “You get anything good?”

Scott pulls Stiles into a conversation about the contents of his bag while Isaac falls in step with Derek. He gives Derek this look, but Derek purposefully ignores him and keeps walking.

+++

2.

It’s been a long day of researching and attempting to learn more about their new monster of the week, as Stiles has chosen to dub the sirens that have been plaguing them recently. Everyone is beyond tired, all calling an end to the endless debates and reading, taking over the couch to try to calm down and relax before they need to go home. It’s raining outside and Derek doesn’t have the heart to kick anyone out of the loft, so he takes a seat on the end of the long couch that’s unoccupied.

There’s low murmuring spreading through the loft, everyone talking amongst themselves and taking in the few minutes of reprieve that they haven’t been able to see so far this week. Derek closes his eyes, leaning against the back of the couch. After a couple of minutes, the couch dips beside him and the scent of cinnamon and rain hits his nose.

“God, it’s a wreck out there,” Stiles says. Derek opens one eye and peeks at Stiles, who runs a hand through his wet hair. “I think the Jeep will be fine though. Most of the damage is just cosmetic.”

“You could’ve waited until the storm passed to check on it,” Derek says.

Stiles shrugs. “I needed the fresh air. Even I can smell everyone’s anger and frustration. Speaking of which, how are you feeling?”

Derek closes his eyes again and settles further into the back of the couch. He can’t lie, just sitting here with everyone around him and the rain outside is making him calmer. Especially with Stiles sitting next to him and the way his scent always seems to roll off him in waves.

“Fine,” Derek says truthfully.

“Hmm,” Stiles says slowly. The couch continues to shift next to Derek as Stiles relaxes into the cushions. “I think I’m going to fall asleep if I don’t go soon.”

Don’t go , Derek wants to say. He doesn’t say it, but it seems Stiles hears him all the same.

Stiles slides closer to him until he’s close enough to put his head on Derek’s shoulder. Derek stiffens slightly, but Stiles doesn’t seem to mind. After Stiles settles, Derek begins to relax, comfortable with the extra weight and the warmth that Stiles provides as he presses himself along Derek’s side.

“Do you mind?” Stiles asks.

Derek knows that they both know he doesn’t.

He doesn’t say anything because he knows he doesn’t need to. Instead, he pulls the woven blanket off the arm of the couch to his left and lays it over the top of them. It’s the permission that Stiles needs to scoot even closer and snuggle into Derek’s shoulder.

True to his word, he falls asleep rather quickly. Derek doesn’t, but he does allow himself to lean his cheek against Stiles’ head and keep his eyes closed, secretly reveling in the close contact.

+++

3.

“Derek?” Stiles asks, voice frantic. “Derek, are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Derek says into the phone, trying not to groan as he shifts his weight onto his knees. He’s still bleeding sluggishly as the wounds struggle to close, but Stiles doesn’t need to know that.

“Where are you? We’ll come find you.”

Derek takes a look around and doesn’t recognize where he is exactly, no notable landmarks around, and the canopies of the trees cover too much of the sky. He says as much to Stiles, before adding, “Scott will be able to find me by smell. Is he alright?”

“He’s standing,” Stiles says, voice drawing away a little like his phone isn’t pressed to his face. Derek can’t hear anything though, other than some shuffling that indicates the rest of the pack moving around in the background. When Stiles speaks again, his voice sounds closer. “We’re heading to you. Just stay put.”

Stiles hangs up and Derek sighs, setting his phone on the ground in front of him and touching his stomach gingerly, feeling for his wounds. They’re definitely closing, but a lot slower than he would like, something unpleasant he's discovered since losing his alpha spark. He glances at the dead siren a few feet away, half-shifted between her siren form and her human form. She looks a little like Laura. Derek has to look away again.

They find him quick enough. By the time they come through the trees, Derek has made it to his feet, even if he’s a little unstable. Scott looks a little worse for wear but Stiles is luckily untouched. He crosses the clearing and stops in front of Derek, ignoring the body on the ground. He puts his hands on either side of Derek’s arms, looking him over.

“Are you okay?” he asks. Derek puts a hand on his stomach again and while it’s still a little wet and sticky with blood, his wounds feel closed. He nods, a little worn out.

“I’m fine,” he repeats. “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” Stiles says before stepping forward and wrapping his arms around Derek. Derek freezes at the contact, stiffening. Stiles must feel this, but he doesn’t pull away, just holding Derek.

Over Stiles’ shoulder, Derek meets Scott’s eyes. He smiles and nods at Derek like he’s encouraging him. Derek reaches up and wraps his arms around Stiles, albeit a little awkwardly. 

“I’m gonna go check on the others,” Scott says. “Meet back at the loft in fifteen, okay?”

Scott disappears back through the trees and Stiles doesn’t pull away from him, still holding on. The hug is not tight and not loose, just sort of there and present. Derek doesn’t really know how to process it, but after a moment, he steps away, overwhelmed by the physical contact.

“It’s been a while since I’ve hugged anyone,” he tells Stiles, unable to meet his eyes. He doesn’t need to look to know the expression on Stiles’ face, and it’s not one that he wants to see.

“Well, you can hug me anytime you want,” Stiles offers. “I like hugs.”

Derek nods, unsure of what to say. Stiles swoops in to save him.

“Come on, let’s get back to the loft. You need to shower and change,” Stiles says.

“Yeah,” Derek agrees, turning around and heading for the trees. He keeps his movements slow until Stiles matches his pace, then increases his speed in the direction of where they parked Stiles’ Jeep.

Stiles walks alongside him, his arm and the back of his hand brushing against Derek’s as he walks. Derek thinks he’s going to reach out and take Derek’s hand, but he doesn’t. Derek doesn’t either and they continue walking along in silence.

+++

4.

Shortly after the Nogitsune incident, Stiles became a lot clingier than normal. Nobody really blamed him and instead adopted a schedule so that he would never be alone. Derek wasn’t involved in the making of the schedule, but somehow found himself mixed into the routine and becoming one of the people responsible for keeping Stiles company. Usually, Stiles comes to him just to hang out on the couch and it’s never an issue. However, when Derek opens the door tonight, Stiles has this haunted look on his face and keeps glancing over his shoulder like he’s afraid someone’s following him.

“What’s wrong?” Derek asks, stepping out of the way so Stiles can come in. Stiles slides in the door and closes it after himself, locking it firmly. “Stiles.”

“Just had a bad dream,” Stiles says. “I know it’s not your night tonight, but I didn’t want to be anywhere else.”

Stiles moves deeper into the loft, heading toward the kitchen. He opens the cabinet and pulls out a glass, pouring himself some water, completely comfortable with Derek’s loft. Derek doesn’t even know when that happened, but he finds that he doesn’t mind.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Derek asks, unsure of himself. Stiles has never come over like this like he needs some kind of consoling. He’s not sure what Stiles needs to hear, or even what he should do to attempt to alleviate the fear Stiles has.

Stiles shakes his head vehemently but doesn’t respond.

After a few moments of watching Stiles sip his water, Derek says, “What do you want to do?”

“Sleep,” Stiles admits after a moment. “I’m still tired.”

“Well, you can have the bed,” Derek says. “I’ll take the couch.”

“Actually, Scott and I usually share the bed,” Stiles says, a bit bashfully. “Can you sleep with me? It’ll keep me calm.”

Derek nods minutely and Stiles relaxes. Stiles finishes the rest of his water and puts the glass in the sink, moving toward the bed. Helpless, Derek follows him, haunting him like a ghost. Stiles pauses in front of the bed, glancing between either side, the sheets made. He moves toward the right, which happens to be the unoccupied side of Derek’s bed. Derek doesn’t know how Stiles knows that, but he moves to the other side of the bed, coming to stand across from Stiles.

Stiles unbuttons his jeans and slides out of him. He also pulls his shirt off over his head and doesn’t seem to possess any sort of shyness at undressing in front of Derek. Of course, over the years, Derek has seen him half-naked several times, but it still turns his stomach to this day.

Stiles slides easily into his sheets. Derek, already dressed in comfortable pajamas, follows suit. He lays stiffly beside Stiles as Stiles moves around, trying to get comfortable. He rolls onto his side, back facing Derek. On his right shoulder is a faint scar from his time with the Nogitsune. Derek wants to cover it up with his hand and remove the blemish from his skin. Instead, he just stares at the constellation of freckles on Stiles’ back.

“Can you… cuddle me?” Stiles asks after a moment. Derek continues staring at Stiles’ back, unsure of how to respond.

“Does Scott cuddle you?” he finds himself asking.

“No.”

After a moment, Derek slides under the sheets and carefully scoots nearly right up against Stiles, wrapping his arm around Stiles’ waist. Stiles takes his hand and interlocks their fingers together, holding their joint hands to his stomach. 

“Is this okay?” Derek asks. He’s not unfamiliar with spooning someone, but doing it with Stiles feels completely different than it has with anyone else.

“Yes,” Stiles says. He shifts a little. “You can come closer. I don’t mind.”

Derek scoots closer, his body pressing against Stiles’. Unlike usual, Stiles is warm, almost too warm for Derek with clothes and the sheets on. He allows himself to drop his forehead against the top of Stiles’ spine, inhaling the scent lingering on his skin. He smells like himself, the once-present smell of fear now dissipating off him as he relaxes in Derek’s arms. Derek pulls Stiles even closer again, flushing them together as he presses himself into Stiles’ back. Stiles doesn’t mind, like Derek knew he wouldn’t, instead just tightening his grip on Derek’s hand.

“Just try to go to sleep,” Derek says into Stiles’ skin.

“It’s easier with you here,” Stiles says, his voice syrupy with sleep. After a few more moments, his breathing evens out and he falls asleep.

It doesn’t take Derek much after that to fall asleep himself.

+++

5.

As they get later into the fall season, the air begins to turn crisper and sharper, the wind becoming a nipping sting that forces them all to don jackets, even Derek. He doesn’t get cold easily, but the extra warmth from his jacket definitely helps the more and more they’re all out and about on those cool November nights. 

A week before Thanksgiving find them out in the woods, searching for the clues of a rogue and missing omega, one whose trail they can’t find or follow. They split up in groups and Derek pretends to not notice the way that everyone, Stiles included, assumes that the two of them will be grouped together.

He and Stiles are sifting through the piles of dead leaves and getting increasingly frustrated. Derek stands from where he’s been squatting, sighing roughly and trying to calm himself. Stiles is in front of him in an instant.

“I’m sure Scott will be able to find the trail,” Stiles says, close but not quite touching. Derek meets his eyes, feeling the simultaneous urge to step back and move closer. He acts on neither.

“It just feels like searching for a needle in a haystack,” Derek says, running a hand over his face.

“More like a scent in a leaf pile,” Stiles tries to joke. Though it’s not funny, the joke adds a little levity to the situation and when Derek drops his hand from his face, he feels a little calmer.

“Maybe we should just head back,” Derek says.

Stiles’ eyes dart down to Derek’s throat before meeting his eyes again.

“You have a—”

He doesn’t finish his sentence, instead reaching up for Derek’s collar. Derek stiffens but doesn’t move away. Stiles extracts a dead leaf that Derek feels tickle the base of his throat before Stiles tosses it over his shoulder. Then his hands return to Derek’s collar and begin messing with the lapels, adjusting them momentarily. His movements still after a moment, but he doesn’t pull his hands away.

“You know,” Stiles says conspiratorially, “I think I preferred the leather jacket more, even if you did look like a douche in it.”

Then he lets go of Derek’s collar, gesturing behind Derek in the direction they came from.

“Let’s go see if the others found anything,” he tells Derek.

He starts walking, leaving Derek standing there with a pit in his stomach. He collects himself, swallows roughly, and follows after Stiles.

+++

+1.

Derek is not oblivious. He would actually say that over the past few years, he’s become very observant, all of which is heightened by what his enhanced senses can tell him. He knows that Stiles is flirting with him, he just doesn’t know what to do about it.

His first few thoughts are a series of self-deprecating thoughts about not being worthy of the way Stiles is trying to love him. But he’s also gotten better over the years at treating himself better, so he pushes those old fears aside and moves on to the bigger picture.

He knows he likes Stiles too, and honestly has felt like he’s been giving Stiles the time to find somebody else to obsess over. But Stiles is relentless and everything has been different between them these last few years in a way that feels a little bit more tangible and stronger than what Derek has been used to. Surely, Stiles has felt it too; he’s just been brave enough to act on it.

Derek knows that it’s his turn to do something. Even if it’s hard for him, he knows that it’s what Stiles deserves and that it’s necessary if he wants to preserve and hopefully grow their relationship.

He first thinks about asking Scott, but decides he’s not ready to deal with the inevitable teasing, deciding to prolong it at least a little bit and come up with something on his own. It’ll be more heartfelt that way anyway.

He calls Stiles over to the loft during another dreary night, rain pounding the large back window and sounding like little coins or pebbles are hitting the glass. When Stiles lets himself in, he’s partially soaked.

“Sorry,” Derek says immediately, taking Stiles’ drenched jacket out of his hands. He lays it over the back of the couch as Stiles rubs his hands over his arms like he’s attempting to warm himself up. “I didn’t realize how hard it was raining.”

“I was already out at Scott’s when you called,” Stiles says. “Didn’t have any raincoats with me or umbrellas, so I guess that’s my fault.”

“I can get you a spare change of clothes if you want,” Derek says. “I have a couple of things that will fit you.”

Derek is specifically referring to the numerous amounts of clothes that Stiles has left behind in the loft, probably deliberately. Derek doesn’t mind, enjoying Stiles’ scent on his clothes, even if most of them have worn out by now. He moves toward the dresser before Stiles even says yes.

Stiles follows him toward his bed, lingering by the dining table as he watches Derek rifle through the dresser. Derek pulls out some of his old clothes and hands them to Stiles, who glances down briefly like he’s surprised Derek gave him his own clothes and not some of Stiles’ lost ones, but doesn’t hesitate to change into the clothes right there. Derek, at least, looks away.

“So, what’d you need?” Stiles asks. 

Derek glances back and he’s fully dressed, holding his wet clothes in his arms, far away from himself. Derek takes them and deposits them in the bathroom momentarily, hanging them over the shower rod before returning to Stiles, who seems a little bashful.

“Actually,” Derek says, leaning on the table next to Stiles, “Scott wants me to do this event thing in Sacramento. I have to charm some other alpha. He wants me to learn how to dance.”

Stiles laughs. “You? Dance?”

“Well, you don’t have to be so rude about it,” Derek grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest.

“No,” Stiles says, reaching out and wrapping his hands around one of Derek’s biceps. “I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just the first I’m hearing about any of this and I don’t know why he would ask you. No offense.”

“I think he wants me to feel included,” Derek lies. “The reason isn’t important. I just… I feel embarrassed asking anybody else, but it’s just you, so… can you teach me how to dance?”

Stiles splutters, grip tightening on Derek’s arm.

“You want me to teach you how to dance?” he asks. Then he nods, mostly to himself. “Yeah, sure. I can do that.”

“Great,” Derek says, smiling at Stiles. He watches Stiles’ expression tighten as he glances down at Derek’s mouth before looking away.

Derek pushes himself off the table and moves his arm so that he can take both of Stiles’ hands in his own hands. He pulls Stiles away from the table, toward the middle of the loft where they can’t hit any furniture. Stiles follows, a starstruck sort of look on his face.

“I’ll probably be the one leading,” Derek says, pulling Stiles in front of him and adjusting their positions so that his right hand is holding Stiles’ left and his left hand is on Stiles’ waist. Stiles lets Derek maneuver him with no complaint, just watching in fascination. “Have you danced a lot before?”

“I mean, some,” Stiles says, straightening and seemingly coming into himself. “Dancing is all about swaying to the rhythm. At least this kind of dancing. We probably need some music though. I can play something from my phone—”

“We don’t need music,” Derek insists. “Just sway with me.”

Stiles gets another funny starstruck soft-of expression on his face, but his grip on Derek’s hand and shoulder tightens and he steps closer, leaning more into Derek’s space.

“Then we just start swaying,” Stiles says.

Derek sways to his right and Stiles follows. Then they both sway in the opposite direction, repeating this process and creating a steady rhythm of movement between the two of them with nothing but the rain pounding on the windows serving as their music.

Derek has to admit to himself that this is a great plan. Stiles’ features turn soft and supple as he stares at Derek, not looking anywhere else but right into Derek’s eyes. The familiar pit in his stomach is back, so strong that it’s painful, as he has nowhere else to look but at Stiles, who is giving him the most open and loving expression that he’s seen on anyone within the last decade, and maybe that he’s had ever directed at him. He doesn’t know what to do with that expression, even still as he moves closer to Stiles, dropping his forehead against Stiles’. Stiles leans back into him, pressing closer so that their bodies are all but intertwined. Stiles’ right hand is pressed now to the back of Derek’s neck as Derek’s left hand has migrated to Stiles’ back, his palm pressed flat against Stiles’ T-shirt.

His nose brushes against Stiles’, asking. Stiles tilts his head up but doesn’t move closer.

“There is no alpha in Sacramento, is there?” Stiles asks.

“I thought you would find this romantic,” Derek confesses.

“I do,” Stiles says.

When he doesn’t move closer, Derek does, kissing Stiles softly at first as his stomach somersaults at the sensation. Stiles lets go of Derek’s hand to bring his own up to Derek’s face, allowing Derek to grab onto Stiles’ waist with both hands, desperately grasping at him as their kiss turns quickly more frantic and hungry. 

Stiles pulls away first a few moments later.

“So does this mean you like me, or—?”

Derek pulls him back in.